Tales of Fishes

Part 1

Produced by Brian Janes, D. Alexander and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net

TALES of FISHES

Zane Grey

President of the Long Key Fishing Club Honorary Vice-President of the Tuna Club, Avalon

Author of "The U. P. Trail" "The Desert of Wheat" Etc.

Illustrated from Photographs by the author

HARPER & BROTHERS PUBLISHERS New York and London

TALES OF FISHES

Copyright 1919, by Harper & Brothers

Printed in the United States of America

Published June, 1919

CONTENTS

CHAP. PAGE

VERSES 0

I. BYME-BY-TARPON 1

II. THE ISLAND OF THE DEAD 8

III. THE ROYAL PURPLE GAME OF THE SEA 26

IV. TWO FIGHTS WITH SWORDFISH 54

V. SAILFISH 72

VI. GULF STREAM FISHING 88

VII. BONEFISH 107

VIII. SOME RARE FISH 136

IX. SWORDFISH 153

X. THE GLADIATOR OF THE SEA 180

XI. SEVEN MARLIN SWORDFISH IN ONE DAY 197

XII. RANDOM NOTES 216

XIII. BIG TUNA 221

XIV. AVALON, THE BEAUTIFUL 250

Part 2

ILLUSTRATIONS

THE GREAT COLORED ROLLERS OF THE PACIFIC Frontispiece

TARPON THROWING HOOK Facing p. 2

LEAPING TARPON " 3

SAVALO, OR SILVER KING " 4

THESE WILD FOWL HAVE THE WONDERFUL BEAUTY AND SPEED OF FALCONS " 5

RABIHORCADO " 12

THE BOOBIES HAD NO FEAR OF MAN, BUT BOTH YOUNG AND OLD WOULD PICK WITH THEIR SHARP BILLS " 13

YOUNG BOOBIES " 14

SUGGESTIVE OF A WILD, WIND-SWEPT ISLAND OF THE SEA " 15

NESTS EVERYWHERE IN THE SAND AND MOSS " 16

THESE HUGE BLACK RABIHORCADOS WERE THE LARGEST SPECIES OF FRIGATE OR MAN-OF-WAR BIRD " 17

RABIHORCADO RISING FROM THEIR EGGS " 20

BOOBIES OF ISLA DE LA MUERTE IN THE CARIBBEAN SEA " 21

A SWORDFISH LEAPING OFF THE BOLD BLACK SHORE OF CLEMENTE " 28

ON THE RAMPAGE " 29

SWORDFISH ON THE SURFACE " 32

HOLDING HARD " 33

A CLEAN GREYHOUND LEAP " 36

316-POUND SWORDFISH " 37

THE WILD OATS SLOPE OF CLEMENTE " 44

WHERE THE DEEP-BLUE SWELL BOOMS AGAINST THE LAVA WALL OF CLEMENTE ISLAND " 45

FOUR MARLIN SWORDFISH IN ONE DAY " 68

A BIG SAILFISH BREAKING WATER " 69

FOUR SAILFISH IN ONE DAY ON LIGHT TACKLE " 76

SAILFISH THRESHING ON THE SURFACE " 77

MEMORABLE OF LONG KEY " 84

LEAPING SAILFISH " 85

Part 3

SOLITUDE ON THE SEA " 92

SUNSET BY THE SEA " 93

TWIN TIGERS OF THE SEA--THE SAVAGE BARRACUDA " 98

HAPPY PASTIME OF BONEFISHING " 99

THE GAMEST FISH THAT SWIMS " 110

A WAAHOO " 111

AT LONG KEY, THE LONELY CORAL SHORE WHERE THE SUN SHINES WHITE ALL DAY AND THE STARS SHINE WHITE ALL NIGHT " 144

THE FAMOUS STUNT OF A MARLIN SWORDFISH, "WALKING ON HIS TAIL" " 145

SURGING IN A HALF-CIRCLE " 148

BROADBILL SWORDFISH ON THE SURFACE--THE MOST THRILLING SIGHT TO A SEA ANGLER " 149

SHINING IN THE SUNLIGHT " 156

THROWING WHITE WATER LIKE THE EXPLOSION OF A TORPEDO " 157

A LONG, SLIM SAILFISH WIGGLING IN THE AIR " 160

FIGHTING A BROADBILL SWORDFISH " 161

THE ONLY PHOTOGRAPH EVER TAKEN OF LEAPING BROADBILL SWORDFISH " 180

XIPHIAS GLADIUS, THE BROADSWORDED GLADIATOR OF THE SEA " 181

A STRAIGHTAWAY GREYHOUND LEAP, MARVELOUS FOR ITS SPEED AND WILDNESS " 188

LIKE A LEAPING SPECTER " 189

WALKING ON HIS TAIL " 192

A MAGNIFICENT FLASHING LEAP. THIS PERFECT PICTURE CONSIDERED BY AUTHOR TO BE WORTH HIS FIVE YEARS' LABOR AND PATIENCE " 193

TIRED OUT--THE LAST SLOW HEAVE " 196

HAULED ABOARD WITH BLOCK AND TACKLE " 197

R. C. ON THE JOB " 204

304 POUNDS " 205

R. C. GREY AND RECORD MARLIN " 205

328-POUND RECORD MARLIN BY R. C. GREY. SHAPELIEST AND MOST BEAUTIFUL SPECIMEN EVER TAKEN " 208

SUNSET OVER CLEMENTE CHANNEL " 209

A BLUE-FINNED PLUGGER OF THE DEEP--138-POUND TUNA " 244

Part 4

AVALON, THE BEAUTIFUL " 245

THE OLD AVALON BARGE WHERE THE GULLS FISH AND SCREAM " 252

THE END OF THE DAY OFF CATALINA ISLAND " 253

SEAL ROCKS " 264

ZANE GREY

By W. Livingston Larned

Been to Avalon with Grey ... been most everywhere; Chummed with him and fished with him in every Sportsman's lair. Helped him with the white Sea-bass and Barracuda haul, Shared the Tuna's sprayful sport and heard his Hunter-call, Me an' Grey are fishin' friends.... Pals of rod and reel, Whether it's the sort that fights ... or th' humble eel, On and on, through Wonderland ... winds a-blowin' free, Catching all th' fins that grow ... Sportsman Grey an' Me.

Been to Florida with Zane ... scouting down th' coast; Whipped the deep for Tarpon, too, that natives love th' most. Seen the smiling, Tropic isles that pass, in green review, Gathered cocoanut and moss where Southern skies were blue. Seen him laugh that boyish laugh, when things were goin' right; Helped him beach our little boat and kindle fires at night. Comrades of the Open Way, the Treasure-Trove of Sea, Port Ahoy and who cares where, with Mister Grey an' Me!

Been to Western lands with Grey ... hunted fox and deer. Seen the Grizzly's ugly face with danger lurkin' near. Slept on needles, near th' sky, and marked th' round moon rise Over purpling peaks of snow that hurt a fellow's eyes. Gone, like Indians, under brush and to some mystic place-- Home of red men, long since gone, to join their dying race. Yes ... we've chummed it, onward--outward ... mountain, wood, and Key, At the quiet readin'-table ... Sportsman Grey an' Me.

TALES OF FISHES

BYME-BY-TARPON

To capture the fish is not all of the fishing. Yet there are circumstances which make this philosophy hard to accept. I have in mind an incident of angling tribulation which rivals the most poignant instant of my boyhood, when a great trout flopped for one sharp moment on a mossy stone and then was gone like a golden flash into the depths of the pool.

Some years ago I followed Attalano, my guide, down the narrow Mexican street of Tampico to the bank of the broad Panuco. Under the rosy dawn the river quivered like a restless opal. The air, sweet with the song of blackbird and meadowlark, was full of cheer; the rising sun shone in splendor on the water and the long line of graceful palms lining the opposite bank, and the tropical forest beyond, with its luxuriant foliage festooned by gray moss. Here was a day to warm the heart of any fisherman; here was the beautiful river, celebrated in many a story; here was the famous guide, skilled with oar and gaff, rich in experience. What sport I would have; what treasure of keen sensation would I store; what flavor of life would I taste this day! Hope burns always in the heart of a fisherman.

Attalano was in harmony with the day and the scene. He had a cheering figure, lithe and erect, with a springy stride, bespeaking the Montezuma blood said to flow in his Indian veins. Clad in a colored cotton shirt, blue jeans, and Spanish girdle, and treading the path with brown feet never deformed by shoes, he would have stopped an artist. Soon he bent his muscular shoulders to the oars, and the ripples circling from each stroke hardly disturbed the calm Panuco. Down the stream glided long Indian canoes, hewn from trees and laden with oranges and bananas. In the stern stood a dark native wielding an enormous paddle with ease. Wild-fowl dotted the glassy expanse; white cranes and pink flamingoes graced the reedy bars; red-breasted kingfishers flew over with friendly screech. The salt breeze kissed my cheek; the sun shone with the comfortable warmth Northerners welcome in spring; from over the white sand-dunes far below came the faint boom of the ever-restless Gulf.

We trolled up the river and down, across from one rush-lined lily-padded shore to the other, for miles and miles with never a strike. But I was content, for over me had been cast the dreamy, care-dispelling languor of the South.

When the first long, low swell of the changing tide rolled in, a stronger breeze raised little dimpling waves and chased along the water in dark, quick-moving frowns. All at once the tarpon began to show, to splash, to play, to roll. It was as though they had been awakened by the stir and murmur of the miniature breakers. Broad bars of silver flashed in the sunlight, green backs cleft the little billows, wide tails slapped lazily on the water. Every yard of river seemed to hold a rolling fish. This sport increased until the long stretch of water, which had been as calm as St. Regis Lake at twilight, resembled the quick current of a Canadian stream. It was a fascinating, wonderful sight. But it was also peculiarly exasperating, because when the fish roll in this sportive, lazy way they will not bite. For an hour I trolled through this whirlpool of flying spray and twisting tarpon, with many a salty drop on my face, hearing all around me the whipping crash of breaking water.

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